


Sometimes It Ends

by ButterflyPrincess



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, League of Legends RPF, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Josh is from D1 and hates it, M/M, No revolution, Sam is a cute from D12, basically to express my pain about Dardoch leaving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyPrincess/pseuds/ButterflyPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mom doesn’t have a reason to be worried. There’s tons of volunteers in One, Career tributes who have trained for this all their lives. They’ll basically butt their heads over who gets to die next anyway, so why even bother?"</p><p>aka. Of course the one year Josh gets drawn to participate in the Hunger Games no one volunteers because why the fuck not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's time, it's time

**Author's Note:**

> Mourning over Dardoch leaving Liquid I needed to add more pain to my suffering because let's be honest, we all know how this is gonna end, don't we?

District One

 

“Joshie~ Get ready, dear, it's time, it's time” my mom sing-songs and I have to suppress a groan.

 

 _It's time, it's time._ I've heard this shit every damn year. Ever since I've been twelve years old. _It's time, it's time._ As if that shit was a fucking party.

 

To be precise, the reaping ceremony of District One always ends in a giant party, copying the ridiculous decadence of the Capitol, making us forget about the things no one ever talks about. Making the volunteers forget about the stupidity of their choice, making their parents forget that maybe they should worry.

 

But it's a party and the one with the most alcohol as well, so why not use the opportunity? If they want us to forget, fine, I would like to forget I'm living in this world anyway. Also, it's my last year as a name in that fucking bowl, so I might as well just celebrate that discount form of freedom.

 

I can't stand myself as I shoot a glance at my mirror image. I can barely remember what I look like naturally, without that stupid glittery-blue eyeliner and exaggerated blush on my cheeks. I only know my skin is actually white and not glimmering by default. For my hair... I believe it used to be brown. Or maybe black, I'm not entirely sure, I only ever see it after spending hours under one of my million stupid wigs, so that's not a very accurate measure.

 

I scoff at the fucking earrings, the necklace and hairpin, made of pure gold. By mom of course. I'm mainly her mannequin, to be honest. So every year for the reaping I look even worse than usual, covered in an extra lot of gold in every form possible. I can't blame her. Or no. I actually can. Because her only goal with this is to hopefully get a job in the Capitol. Spoiler: She won't. Not even the Capitol's taste is that bad and that's something.

 

I shake my head at myself. I look ridiculous. Like a fucking clown or something. One time in school someone told me that only about a hundred years ago no man would’ve dressed like that and most women wouldn't either. It was a silly invention of our time, a consequence of feeling the need to demonstrate wealth in the most obvious way possible. The Capitol had to portray their superiority and the wealthy Districts took after them. It’s pathetic when you think about it.

 

“Joshie, come on~ It’s time for the reaping, you know what happens if we’re late.”

 

Hell, I do. Not that I care but I do know what happens if you miss the time of the reaping. Peacekeepers come to look for you and drag you to the assembly hall if necessary. I went through this on my first reaping. I simply slept in, that’s all and my mom’s clock was not working properly because she had messed something up trying to “make it prettier” or whatever. It was just an unlucky day but the Peacekeepers don’t ask you about that kind of stuff. You’ve broken a rule in any way, so have to deal with the consequences.

 

But to make Peacekeepers seem like an unnecessary thing to have (which they are but shhh) mom forcefully grabs my wrist and drags me out of the room. I look at her in disapproval. She’s not worried, not at all. She’s not the least bit worried her son might get chosen for death. I can’t blame her, though, if I’m being rational here.

 

She doesn’t have a reason to be worried. There’s tons of volunteers in One, Career tributes who have trained for this all their lives. The reapings in Districts One and Two are not more than a formality, following the rules of the Capitol but they don’t actually have a purpose. They’ll basically butt their heads over who gets to die next anyway, so why even bother?

 

We gather in front of the Justice Building and at first glance, it looks awfully similar to the one in the Capitol. Another attempt and copying our biggest threat. That's actually the stupidest thing about this place: How much everyone adores the Capitol. As if President Snow's dick was the Holy Grail you need to get to as close as possible so maybe one day you can suck it out. Sounds gross? It's honestly disgustingly fitting.

 

I sometimes wonder if the people in One are blind or if they just want to be really badly. They just don’t seem to see it. They cover themselves in the make-up and jewellery they create solely for the Capitol and pretend to be better than the dirt-eaters of Twelve or the farmers of Eleven but in the very end, does any of this even matter? Because no matter if you get fat in One or starve in Twelve; none of us are free. They control each and every one of us.

 

But maybe everyone just got brainwashed while I spent my time somewhere else.

 

I can be happy name is Josh and not Sapphire or Glitter or some shit. Diamond Boy has only been mom’s nickname for me, luckily. So I'm better off than many here.

 

.

.

.

 

It strikes me once again that I’m only eighteen and already can’t bear hearing that fucking speech about the history of the Games anymore and will have to listen to that nonsense for the rest of my fucking life. Maybe they stop throwing your name into that bowl once you turn nineteen but they’ll never stop telling you why everyone else is still in there. You have to watch it, year and year again and it’s the most annoying thing in the world.

 

Maybe I should ask myself why watching people die every year is not shocking to me anymore but just plain annoying. Maybe when I was still little I was shocked, maybe shaken up even but after seeing it a million times I have a hard time feeling anything but annoyance, although I still hate the Capitol for making those people fight for nothing but a bit of fun and scaring us off. In the end, being scared would be just fulfilling their perverted fantasies, so I'll never give them that.

 

One’s escort is Astoria Berryweather and her surname basically sums up what she looks like: A goddamn berry. She’s a curvy black woman with a strong voice and maybe all the enthusiasm of the world, covered in a puffy red costume and she has her head full of fruit accessories. All in all, she’s a bright, cheerful personality that acts as sweet as a berry.

 

I hate her.

 

I wonder what’s actually going on in the heads of escorts. I mean, they basically sentence people to death every year and that for entertainment. Don’t these people have a sense of guilt or something? But then again, if they had the rest of the Capitol would have to have one too and I doubt they’d still be doing that crap if that was the case.

 

“As always, ladies first”, she calls out, making it sound like the ultimate honour to have your name end up between her fingers. It’s a show, it’s entertainment, it’s our lives on the line and they are enjoying it. But at this point I think maybe the whole Capitol has forgotten that we are actually real people. And that they are watching real people die. But who knows, maybe they really think we are just actors.

 

“Goldy Myers!”

 

The girl with the golden locks and puppet face can barely settle on stage until the first volunteers step forward. I look at the girl group and I recognize the one who was first and gets asked to come up on stage. Her hair shines bright red in the sunlight. I've seen her in school, I think. And during dancing lessons (mom forces me to take those.) I only remember she's an excellent dancer. Not the type of girl to even acknowledge my existence. And now she might die soon. Well, unlucky, I suppose.

 

“Ruby Hailwire” is the answer when the girl is asked about her name. Ruby, Goldy, I hate those naming pattern. I even doubt there's enough types of pretty looking rocks to name all the children of the District

 

“Now for the boys~”, Astoria sing-songs and I just want to leave once and for all. Five more minutes or so of this and I can go and... not “never come back” because I'll still have to come here for every reaping but at least my name won't be in there anymore. That's... something I guess?

 

“Joshua Hartnett.” My heart skips a beat before I realize there's no reason to panic. There will be a volunteer. There will be someone stepping in for me. Anyone. I've seen the boys in my grade train; I'm sure they don't want it to be for nothing. I shrug and walk out of the crowd to let the Peacekeepers guide me to the stage.

 

I climb the stairs and stand next to Astoria, Ruby on the other side. Ruby glares at me, death in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. I don't understand what she must be thinking. Maybe she's already figuring out a million ways to assure that I die first. I shoot a smile back. I very well know I won't die because I won't be attending the bloody Games. Someone will take my place anyway. There's no reason to plot my death, dear Ruby.

 

“So, are there _any_ volunteers? Young heroes brave enough to switch places with this _handsome_ young man?” I snort. She really thinks she's funny like that, doesn't she?

 

I wait for the hands to shoot up.

 

One second.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

Five.

 

Ten.

 

What is taking them so long?

 

I start getting nervous. Why is there no one calling out? No hands being raised? No fights errupting over who was first? My palms turn sweaty, adrenalin finds its way into my system. What is happening?

 

I let my eyes fly over the crowd and there he is. Christian Rivera. He disliked me from the very first day of school, picking on me for no reason, calling me a weak coward for not attending the Career training. When I had just shrugged, replying there was no need because there's always enough of those fuckers he didn't find it too funny.

 

Now my eyes are locked with his and there's a very non-pleasant feeling coming up. His lips curl to a smile as he raises his hand and despite my foolish hope that maybe he's too proud to let this opportunity pass, having trained too much to just not attend the Games I know he won't do it. He bring his hand to his lips, presses a small kiss on them and then he just fucking waves at me.

 

He proceeds to form words with his mouth and I want to kill him the moment I understand what he's saying. “Have fun, Diamond Boy.”

 

I can't. I fucking can't. I feel my insides collapse and my hands tremble. I want to laugh and cry at the same time and everything left is just an empty feeling in my chest. I step to the mic on stage and let out a dry laugh.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”, I ask as I look in Christian's direction, then at everyone in this goddamn place. “Every fucking year you assholes fight about getting in there as if it was about _saving_ your lives. And the one year... The one year I get drawn you suddenly realize this shit is about dying and duck your heads? Fucking amazing! You know, I -”

 

There's a sting on my neck and my world turns black. I can manage a weak “fuck you” because hell, if I die here I want this to be my last words.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mentors

 

“Oh my poor boy, my _poor, poor boy!_ ” I still hear my mom crying in my head even though I haven't even been a hundred percent conscious when she stood by my bed, exaggeratedly whining in a high-pitched voice, making me want to never wake up ever again.

 

Unfortunately, the Peacekeeper didn't just kill me. I mean, he couldn't. Of course not. Because once you are up on that stage and no one takes your place, you are basically forbidden to die outside the arena. Which totally makes sense because when I just kill myself before the Games, how would they punish me? Death? Funny. Jokes aside, they would most probably torture my family, force mom to participate instead of me. I wish I was just making that up but such things were quite common to happen in the early years of the Games, when people thought they could actually oppose it.

 

On the other hand, I'm probably not even selfless enough to consider anyone but myself in this. If I die, fine. It's not that my guilt can haunt me into the afterlife anyway. There's nothing to come after the final breath, that's the one thing I'm certain of. I've seen too many dead eyes during the past years of being forced to watch the Games. There's nothing nice about it. There's no light. None of them looked like facing paradise.

 

But I'm alive, at least for now. I'm sitting in the train to the Capitol, starring out of the window, without any idea of where we currently are. Maybe in Seven, maybe Three. I've never cared enough to learn what the different Districts even do in particular. I kinda know the Eastern ones are incredibly poor and everything close to the Capitol is relatively rich. Tsk, wealth. Another thing I never gave a flying fuck about.

 

I've often wondered whether I even belong to One. Probably not. I don't think much of jewellery, Gold and gems, nor did I ever get the perception of taking part in the Games being an honour. I always thought it was pure suicide to to volunteer and my opinion hasn't changed even when realizing that winning is very likely, coming from our very District.

 

Fitting into the pretty picture of One is the next on my list of the the most annoying thing ever. Maybe I would've been more fitted for starving in Twelve. At least I would've been able to die as myself there. Not as an unhappy member of the elite club I've never wanted to be in.

 

“Joshua, my handsome Diamond Boy, don't look so grim! You're going to see the Capitol! And you're going to eat the most delicious food in Panem for the next days, training in the most modern of all training centers! Smile~”

 

I groan. Why must Astoria still be here? Why must she act like I'm gonna do something worth looking forward to?

 

“Thanks a lot, but I've lived in the best copy of the Capitol all my life” I mutter and don't even bother looking at her. She hates me anyway. Everyone does now, after my little speech on stage. I've mostly lost all my potential sponsors over that. Unlucky, I guess.

 

“Nothing ever compares to the original! Come on, give me a bit enthusiasm! I'm sure your smile shines bright like a diamond!” she squeaks and evokes the urge to kill her in me. Gonna have to do some killing anyway, right? Might as well just get some practice.

 

Instead I just give her my best death gaze. Jesus Christ, she literally looks like a pomegranate right now. “If you mention diamonds in my presence one more time I won't be the only one who's going to die pretty soon.” She gasps. Gasps just a little too much. Just as much to make it obvious she's making fun of me.

 

I hate her.

 

“I'm gonna kill _you_ first.”

 

I turn to look at Ruby. Her grey eyes tell me she's unmistakably serious. And in contrast to me, she's actually prepared to kill someone. I've once heard something about her doing kick-boxing or something like that. Seems odd for such an elegant girl. She's overly motivated, too, when I think about it. Because I'm fairly sure she's younger than me, maybe seventeen, maybe even only sixteen. Careers rarely volunteer before they turn eighteen.

 

“Why thank you. I'm looking forward to it.”

 

She's silent after that. She probably just doesn't want to deal with my shit. Fair enough, I wouldn't deal with hers either.

 

“With that attitude you're really going to die first” a man chimes in as he enters our compartment. He's about my height, skinny as fuck, wears a suit, black-framed glasses and oh Lord, I instantly recognize his earrings. Mom made them. So this must be that one person who bought her shit. Districts are small. Also, I instantly dislike him as he looks down on me, superiority flickering in his eyes.

 

I snort. “I don't know if I didn't already make this clear but”, I stand up to get rid of him towering over me and stare directly into his eyes, “I. Don't. Fucking. Mind. I don't give a shit about dying or living. I. Don't. Care. Get it? If I die the second the announcement is over, fine. Who the hell cares?”

 

He just laughs. Love it to be taken seriously.

 

“I see we got ourselves a suicidal rebel this year, huh? Adorable.”

 

I sigh. Why does everyone have to be so fucking annoying? Can't they just let me die in peace? “And you are?”

 

“Joshie, this is Choi Yoonsub, your mentor. You should know him, he won the 76th Hunger Games two years ago.”

 

I shrug. “Two years ago I took a boy from school home and fucked him senseless instead of watching that scene girl kill off the last pathetic contenders.” I don't even move as I say it. They hate it. I love that they do.

 

“At least I actually make some effort regarding my appearance.”

 

“At least I don't look like I haven't eaten for the past two years. Doesn't raise too much appetite, huh? Killing fifteen out of twenty-three?”

 

“I still live, though.”

 

I snort dryly. “You don't 'live', you are just not dead.”

 

“Joshie! Don't say such things to your mentor!” Astoria's voice rings high in my head. I can't take it, I can't take any of them. I slam my fist on the table.

 

“Don't fucking call me 'Joshie', don't call me 'Diamond Boy', don't call me _anything_ I only reluctantly tolerated my family calling me and don't tell me what the fuck to do!”

 

I storm out of the compartment, Astoria calls after me, Yoonsub shakes his head. There's a beeping sound as the door opens automatically. I go outside and notice that I have no idea what to do and where to go and if I'm even allowed to go anywhere in the first place. I simply feel lost.

 

I feel my hands starting to tremble and my heart beating faster. I feel lost, I feel fucking lost and I also feel that I'm losing my nerves. _I don't care about dying, I don't care about the Games, I don't care about anything,_ I repeat in my head, over and over like a mantra, _I don't care, I don't care, I don't care._

 

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, what is happening?_ I don't know what I'm feeling, why I feel _anything_ all of a sudden. I would do anything to not feel like a little boy right now. I'm not. I'm not a little boy. I'm not a little boy who suddenly realizes he hasn't said goodbye to his mother properly and most likely won't see her ever again. _Why, why why? I don't care, I don't care, I. Don't. Fucking. Care._

 

“Oh my God, boy! Are you okay?” I try to focus my eyes again, try to regain composure. I see a man in front of me, with tanned skin, kind eyes and a smile so warm it almost makes me believe it's not fake. I haven't cried, have I? I touch my left cheek. Dry. Okay, that's something.

 

“I- I'm fine, I just uh- ...needed some fresh air.”

 

“Uh-huh. District One, right? Damn, you sure as hell look unhappy for one of that Career pack.” The man shakes his hand and scrutinizes me from head to toe. I shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

 

“I'm not here voluntarily if you're implying that. And I'm not trying to win either, so don't worry about whoever your lucky ones are. I'm fine just kicking the bucket.” _I don't care, I don't care._

 

“You know I'm a mentor?”

 

“You were on TV. Rick Fox. You bought yourself into the job last year. Wanted to make victors out of Twelve. Not your best investment, huh? They died pretty early, didn't they?”, I reply as I recognize him.

 

He... Actually looks hurt the second I say that. “They did. Maybe my biggest failure. But this year I have some true victors, I'm certain of that.” He smiles at himself. Does he even know that only there'll only be one if anything?

 

“But I don't want them to have it easy. A gifted victory is not a true victory.”

 

I blink. Once. Twice. Then I just bluntly look him in the eyes. “Victory? Have you ever watched the games? Have you seen the tours of the victors? Have you seen them standing on stage, only reluctantly reading aloud what they're supposed to say? There is no victory. Those 'victors' are broken people. I sure as hell don't aspire ending up like this, thank you very much.”

 

Rick puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles at me again. “It's okay to say that. But don't expect me to not see the fire in you.”

 

“The... what?” I stare at him, he shrugs. Then he just turns and walks in the opposite direction.

 

Feeling inexplicably defeated, I go back to our compartment.

 

 

 

The door opens and Ruby is casually talking to Astoria and Yoonsub. I sigh. Maybe, deep down, I'm actually jealous that she knows what to do. That she's prepared while I'm not.

 

“Ah, there he is, I told you he's not gonna be gone for long”, Yoonsub states as I step closer. I roll my eyes at him.

 

“Don't act like you know me.”

 

He puts on a smirk before he gets up from his seat and stalks towards me. I look at him and his pretty, girly face and hell, I hate him. I know how he did it, how he won. He betrayed every single one of his fellow tributes. Poisoned the Career pack he had teamed up with in their sleep during his watch. Ran to a group of poorer District's tributes, telling them his allies had turned on him and that he had to run from them and then they were attacked by a bunch of mutts. He didn't even have to wait for them to sleep to kill them.

The Capitol called him “the most proficient killer of all time” – I say he's the biggest psychopath.

 

I want to throw up as he grabs my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes that are dripping of arrogance. “I know _everything_ about you, don't worry. I know that you, at least allegedly, don't care about dying. I do, however. We have some pride as a District, don't you think?”

 

“As if I give a fuck about other people's pride”, I hiss and stare at him dangerously.

 

He comes closer, close enough to whisper in my ear. “The girl won't do anything, I can tell. You however, you can. Because I can see your will. Your will to accomplish the greatest of things. You don't want to die... You just want to be stubborn and accomplish your goals. Am I not right?”

 

He laughs quietly. But he still laughs, fucking laughs at me as if I'm a goddamn kid. He then takes a step back as he stares into my eyes like he is about to kill me.

 

“You're not like that. I can see it, even if you don't. You're not the type of person to just not _try_ in a competition. You can deny it for the next week but I can tell you, the second you enter the arena you will fight. I've known people who were like this and trust me: You're just the same. …I would recommend you to practice, though. Willpower alone will not save you from anyone.”

 

I wait a moment. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even move.

 

“You don't expect me to say you're right now, do you? But since I don't have anything else to do here anyway... Talk about whatever you believe you need to tell me. Don't expect me to listen, though”, I sigh, just to get rid of him. Well, I'm not actually getting rid of him, he's still here and won't go alone but, oh God, make him stop fucking talking to me so isolated from others.

 

Fucking intimidating psycho.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I have no excuse for this. Loco is an asshole, Rick Fox is there, too and if things go as I think they will we won't have Sam in here until chapter 4 which kills me because I need the Lourdoch myself aaaaaaah
> 
> But yeah, have fun <3


	3. Picking Petals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry? Idk but I let this lie around half-dead for a pretty long time and kinda didn't have the motivation to continue this BUT I got myself the 2nd and 3rd book and I'm getting back into this I think. ...Not prominising anything, though, I guess.
> 
> But for now: Please enjoy <3

Picking Petals

 

Looking back at my life in District One, that asshole of a mentor was probably not even wrong when he said I was a fighter, that I would never give up and I don't believe there's a thing in the world that's worse for me right now than admitting that this guy was fucking right.

 

I think back to all the times I scored high in all kinds of school competitions. Sports, maths, science, I never cared what it was, I always wanted to be the best in those. However, every teacher would always just shake their head at me, disbelieving of how I could never accomplish decent regular grades but as soon as it was about a placement, a direct competition, I just went through the roof.

 

My mom used to often tell me I was incapable of doing something just for myself, that I was unable to “invest in my future” and that I would only ever try hard if it was about being better than someone else. I think she also once said that I only ever lived for the moment, never thinking about the future and I just turned around hissing “Fine, then I'm leaving, _in this moment_ ”. I snort to myself. I don't even know why mom would be sad about getting rid of me, I'm a terrible child. 

 

“Thinking of something funny?”, one of the stylists asks as she swirls around me, doing something I cannot really comprehend but I'm sure it's important in a weird, twisted way that I know dog shit about. I honestly have no opinion of her, she's a typical Capitol girl just doing her job which I can't blame her for even though I'd maybe like to.

 

I don't answer her question, though. I don't believe my thoughts are anyone's business but my own and certainly not a random stylist's. Like, hell, I can't even remember her name, why would I tell her what I'm thinking? I can see her biting her lip, deciding not to ask again before she continues to do whatever.

 

I take a look over at Ruby and I wonder if she's actually  like _ that. _ She's chatting away with the hairdresser who is currently pinning up her hair. Smiling, being girly, that's what she's doing here and I've seen her doing it towards anyone that could be advantageous for her and is not part of our District. She has no problem openly expressing her hatred for me in front of Yoonsub or Astoria because they basically already know what she's up to. But she's always playing nice girl in front of the people of the Capitol – stylists, hairdressers, even waitresses. It's ridiculous, really. 

 

I know she's not like that or at least I don't believe it because I've heard her openly death-threatening me and I see how fake her smile is when she uses it. I wonder if she's nervous, somewhere underneath those layers of pretentiousness. Maybe she is, maybe not but she definitely knows how to make the best out of it far better than I do. Or maybe she, in contrast to me, actually believes she can get out of here alive.

 

“Hahhhh, you are _such_ a pretty boy, they are going to _love_ you!” The head stylist is a woman whose appearance just screams that she loves attention. Rainbow-coloured hair, tangled and tied and braided in a million different ways and this on only one head. I don't think I've ever seen such a thing. Her make up is a mess of colours. Even mom would go unconscious if she saw it. Layers of layers of eye shadow, eyeliner and lipstick. It's a thick mask over her actual face which is most likely a nightmare, if I had to guess. She's also probably more fake than her nose if she doesn't just actually fucking _admire_ me. I'm not even joking, she told me I was pretty/handsome/gorgeous/ god-damn-pick-one at least ten times today.

 

I believe her name is something like Bigine? I couldn't bring myself to listen to the long, long story of where it comes from, I just picked up something with colours or what the heck not. So it probably resembles her personality or style or... something. I honestly couldn't care less.

 

“And now if you just smile during the parade you'll get all the sponsors, I'm convinced of that!” I nod sceptically. Parade, sponsors, interviews. All those things are mere mysteries to me. It seems like they're concepts from far distant worlds, worlds I never thought I would enter but now I'm here, having more make-up put on my face than I can ever get over and the parade is waiting for me. Just like the sponsors, the interviews and the arena.

 

~*~*~*~

 

My heart tumbles a bit as I'm standing in front of the chariot. My palms are sweatier than I would've imagined and they're more shaky, too. I try to tell myself that I don't care anyway, that nothing of this is worth anything in the end but my body doesn't obey. I've never liked being in the spotlight and now I'm forced into it with no way out and as the first person of this long train of chariots.

 

I glance over to Ruby. She's in a dream of a red dress, her hair flows like lava over her shoulder, her make up matches everything perfectly. The innocent eye would never believe that she isn't a model, a face for the beauty of the Capitol but a teenager sent out to fight and kill for random people's entertainment. It's a cruel reality really. For a moment I feel almost sad about the waste of such a beauty. Then I remember how much of a play pretend all of this is and I feel nothing but bitter.

 

“Get on, get on, you lovely children. Smile brightly, smile widely, this is such a big day! You are _famous_ now!”, Astoria skips and hops and jumps up and down next to the chariot, gesturing wildly for us to get on. We follow her order, me more hesitantly than Ruby who is completely in her element. She's basically radiating while I have a hard time faking the slightest of smiles.

 

I'm dressed in a classic suit, a pitch-black jacket over a fiery red shirt to match the dream that is Ruby's outfit. Nonetheless, it leaves me entirely in her shade. Maybe that's what you get for mocking the Capitol in the way I did. You don't just call out the Hunger Games for what they are without consequence.

 

I will be invisible out there, it will look as though there was only a girl tribute from One, a shining star in the sky over the District. She's a true gem, worthy of her name as well as her heritage, almost disgustingly ready for the attention, the spotlight and the interviews.

 

It's fine though. I'll gladly be invisible, it's what I've wanted to be all my life. Invisible, in simple clothes and without an itching wig. My hand finds its way into my hair, my fingers scratch the skin for a second. It feels so much lighter. With oxygen reaching that skin I almost deemed dead.

 

Ruby glares at me and grabs my wrist, forcing my hand back to the side of my body. I smirk. “What? Do you think my unfitting behaviour will ruin your show? Don't worry, the stage is all yours”, I assure her, mockery in my voice that she's definitely heard but decides not to react to.

 

“It's starting, it's starting!” Astoria claps happily and the gates open for us to leave the hall.

 

What I'm facing is probably the longest road I've ever seen. I stare into the distance in awe, not able to deny how impressed I actually am by what I'm seeing. Thousands and thousands of people cheering and applauding and probably hastily discussing which outfits which tribute are going to wear.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Capitol! Welcome our tributes for the 78th Hunger Games!”, a voice announces through massive speakers, carrying the sound to every single member of the crowd. The horses in front of out chariot start walking, no, rather dancing their way down the road and the cheers grow louder and more ecstatic with each person that manages to have a better view at us.

 

They're screeching and applauding and throwing flowers for Ruby and her alone, I know it. I have my arms crossed in front of my chest even though, and especially _because_ , Yoonsub specifically told me not to do that.

 

At some point I raise my hand and catch a red rose that's thrown at Ruby. I look down on it and spend a bit of time pulling out each of its petals one by one. When I'm done and drop it next to me on the floor. They notice, I can basically feel how the camera zooms in on me. The crowd loses a bit of its noise when I drop the stem and I can make out one or two shocked gasps. I chuckle. As if killing an already dead flower was worse than killing twenty-three teenagers every year.

 

They relocate their attention once the tributes from Two enter, seemingly forgetting about my little show.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“You fucking ruined _everything!_ ”

 

I jump off the chariot with a huff, just to meet Ruby's glowing eyes. Red contacts. Very original.

 

“Oh c'mon, what did I ruin? That oh so poor little flower of yours? Jesus Christ, cry me a river. You got your stage, you got your beautiful dress, perfect make up and whatever else it is you pretend to care about. I'm pretty sure you got like a thousand sponsors from this stupid parade alone. I didn't even try to steal your precious attention. So tell me how I 'ruined everything.'”

 

“They didn't even _look at me_ once who caught that fucking flower. I thought you would just lean back and do nothing as you did so proficiently the previous eighteen years of your life!”

 

I want to get angry at her, yell something back but honestly? I don't find it in me.

 

“Oh no, don't fight, my sweet children! You did so great out there, Ruby, no reason to be mad! They _loved_ you!”, Astoria chimes in, smiling brightly. She starts caressing Ruby's hair and the girl has a visibly hard time resisting the urge to flick the hand away. I smile a bit to myself. She's a great actress, I think, but not quite perfect.

 

“And you? You really don't _want_ sponsors, huh? Just destroying a person's gift. What were you thinking? That's rude!” Astoria has no hesitation in criticizing me. She's probably right to do so, objectively.

 

I'm still considering whether I should make a weak attempt at defending myself or not as Yoonsub joins us, clearing his throat to make his presence known.

 

“Actually”, he says, “he got the most screen time out of anyone so far.”

 

I look at him, startled. Why would they...?

 

“Don't look as if you didn't want that. The people love the angry ones. The ones that make their displeasure visible. It spices everything up a little. Makes the bets more interesting, raises questions. It's perfect. I wonder why no one else advises this method. It's so damn effective”, Yoonsub muses. I just stare at him in wonder.

 

He almost acts as if I had planned it all along, as if I had known how they would react.

 

“Unbelievable”, Ruby curses and stalks out, followed by Astoria who does a marvellous job at faking concern.

 

“If this method is so 'effective' and you know it, why didn't you tell me about it?”, I ask as soon as the two women are out of range to hear us.

 

Yoonsub chuckles. He's laughing at me, he finds it all funny. Maybe it is. Maybe this is all just a giant joke that I'm supposed to laugh about but I didn't get the punchline. “Please, Joshua, don't make yourself more stupid than you are. As if you would do what I say.”

 

I blink. Once. Twice. He's right, as much as I hate admitting it. Again. I would _never_ do what he says. Partly because I think that he and I are just too different in order for his advices to apply to me. Partly because I think he's an asshole.

 

“You told me not to look like an jerk to _make_ me look like a jerk? Well played, I can't take that one from you.” I walk past him, planning to catch up on the rest of our group. At that moment it hits me. Something odd. I stop for a moment.

 

“Why didn't you say anything to Ruby? She would've followed you but she just pulled off the typical 'pretty girl'-act.” I look at him over my shoulder just to find him smirking at me.

 

“Don't you remember? I already told you. The girl won't do anything.”

 

And with that, he's the one to walk past me this time and I stay behind for only a few seconds, staring at his back, trying to process what it means who he just told me. _The girl won't do anything._ Why? She's trained, she volunteered and definitely more talented than me in everything. Why would she be of less value than me?

 

I force myself to follow Yoonsub in the end, still wondering.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you are going to enjoy this and I hope I'll manage to pull through with this, since I'm lazy as fuck but hey. You'll never know if you don't try. 
> 
>  
> 
> Love love <3


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